Bubblegum and Violets
by sakiena
Summary: They are the lovers who cannot get enough of each other.
1. The Dead Boy & the One Who Took Him Back

She could never understand the sting in her chest when she eyed the boy-turned-monster that she almost impulsively resurrected after he met death with too much blood and ripped limbs. Toxic thorns constantly poked her heart because she couldn't fix this and even though she was finding her place, she still felt like a misfit who tried too hard and fucked everything up.

She began to lose sleep and she began to find herself to be ugly but she was not always insecure in the little big witch world. The black widow stitched her wounds as crooked as her soul and melted ice on her being. She decided she was cold, but had a fire that no one could take down. Fear became history and that history birthed a leader, a symbol of strength, a fighter.

Not only was she thrilled at the much-needed change, she was absolutely and positively proud, although she never let it show. She was becoming the person she wanted to be: a woman with unfortunately fortunate powers that took a supporting role in Robichaux's astoundingly _wonderful_ adventure.

Her words were winding and landing in a bitter route. She was in love with it.

The only person she would strip and drop her new-found ego around was the blonde beast. The thick thread that held his body together reminded the creator of the blows she repeatedly took to her gut. She has somewhat convinced herself that he was neither expendable nor a riddance. He was a motivation for a better method for the benefit of a dying race.

In her imagination, everything turned out fine. A knife sunk between her bones and crumbled at the greeting of a dimpled smile. It was a moment that should've faded and burned in the back of her head. He would be safe.

Well, at least she had a story to tell, just in case she strived to live another day in a puzzle of girl power and crotches built for death.

Seeing his face that probably broke many hearts and also twisted into fright too many times already was comforting. She couldn't help but find the awe in his black eyes adorable. She's never entirely felt any type of reassurance in the dark, but she was always curious about the way it made her choke with moonlight and the bullets from her thoughts.

The darkness in his eyes was different. When he looks at her, he sees the sun and stars combine and make everything sweet with bubblegum and violets.

When the girl who told him she loved him too saw him next to the Supreme, she nearly mistakes them for mother and son. When he speaks over the cards he holds to the older woman, he does not sound broken. She freezes momentarily, emotion rushing to and invading her stomach. The living dead boy hid in the home filled with white and disaster and was not at all capable of handling himself. He was a secret kept between three golden-haired, completely fucked up young adults.

"Kyle?" the tough girl spoke with light zeal, her pouty lips curled at the corner. It was a happy surprise, one that didn't leave her empty.

This time, when he looks up at her, he does not see flowers or the sky.

He sees a game.

His eyes are sinister, and it's out of love.

Cigarette smoker Fiona traded her time for a shattered boy who was dragged through life and death. Boy killer Zoe felt the room radiate with kindness.

* * *

They're sitting and talking on her bedroom floor and he wants to hold her hand because he finally feels steady. She lets him lace his fingers into the gaps between hers and lay their tangled digits between their crossed legs. She traces a vein on his right hand and admires his strength. Them touching each other tenderly was her favorite song on the radio.

"I still can't believe you don't have a boyfriend," he set the ball to roll. "You're kick-ass. I also can't get over how damn pretty you are."

The girl with honey for hair rolls her eyes with an unintentionally wide smile. It was a dream, the way he flared flames in her. "Yeah, well, I'm not that far behind. Also, you're not bad yourself."

"Thanks. And whatever do you mean, Zoey?" he responds with a childish smirk and a gleam in his onyx eyes.

"I think I love someone."

"No way. Could it be? Is it who I think it is?"

"Definitely. I'm not only starstruck, but totally and fully in love with the one and only," she pauses for effect, "Madison Montgomerey."

His full bottom lip puffs out into a pout. "Boo! I could've _sworn_ it was me."

"Of _course_ it is!" she says with a purposely on-purpose great enthusiasm, her eyes shining brightly.

"But it's Madison you love."

"Shut up."

"Can I finally kiss you?"

"Maybe."

He leans in anyways, brushing their noses together and breathing on her vermillion-colored lips.

"I said maybe."

"Shut up."

His mouth latches onto hers. It's every joke that's made her cry from laughing too hard. It's every crush that made her giggle in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep. It's her favorite beat out of an Arctic Monkeys album. It's every daydream she's ever had, it's every victory she's ever received.

They move together, erupting light into fragments and reflecting the sun. They taste each other with a slide of their tongue and teeth. They grew vines inside of each other's minds as she bites his lip and sucks on it. He deepens the kiss, pulling her on top of him with his left arm around her waist and his back on the floor. He doesn't dare let go of her hand.

They part to breathe because they remember that they forgot that neither of them were air. She looks at his eyes and they are gentle with layers of a starless night sky and care. He's beautiful.

"It's me, right?"

She laughs for the first time in months.

* * *

The pair has a troubled mind and they sneak around often, and because he's semi-dead she's not really sure of much anymore but they get off and get high off of each other because they are gardens full of glitter. Their routine gets heated and complex as the battle riles up around them and they cannot pour water atop of it to simmer and die it down. Things were not always what they seemed but they rung true through murderous kisses wielded out of the finest grass and daffodils. He leaves bruises on her neck in the shape of hearts.

They craved each other even more in a matter of weeks with a war surrounding them and pushing them closer and they take it as a sign because they need to relieve their stress and everything seems fast and they are dizzy among the starlight.

"Let's go," she more demands than suggests one night. He does not hesitate to grab her dainty hand and let her lead him to some room she found that seemed secluded enough to isolate them from the world for an hour or to and let them be. Once the door is shut she is touching him all over and they both seemed to glow even though there was no support from fluorescent lights. Her hands snake under his shirt that was suddenly a huge disadvantage so he tells her to take it off and she is more than happy to.

His chest heaves in front of the shorter girl and she trails hot kisses down his throat and then down to his collar bone and she nips the skin here and there and he swears that he will never get enough of her. She knew just what he liked and he was willing to return the favor. So then the shoes on the other foot and she's against a wall, blessed with the mouth of an accidental survivor. His teeth rip on the surface of her porcelain self and he leaves red marks all over her jaw and all over her neck and she gasps almost as loud as he does when he begins to form a love bite on her clavicle.

He gropes her tiny breast through her tank top and squeezes. She breathes hard out of her nose and she lolls her head to the side with her doe eyes closed. Everything is made out of fireworks. She forces her arms to regain it's momentum and she reaches out for the zip on his jeans and pulls it down and every tooth strains the bulge underneath. He groans (it's probably the hottest sound ever) when she grabs his cock and rubs, allowing her consent, allowing pretty much everything.

She also smiles because she's in control. Fuck yeah, girl power.

He collides their bodies together and she has to snatch her wrist away to prevent pain from the friction and then he rocks his hips on top of hers and she feels his hard-on and she moans, fucking moans before he even does and she's instantly humiliated. He kisses her lips but that doesn't make it seem better.

"I've got you tonight," he growls into her ear. He bites a lobe and she honestly thinks she's going to come on the spot. She rakes a hand through his messy locks and wraps an arm around his neck and he lifts her up from the back of her thighs and then her legs are slung around his hips and she's never been this wet. She leans back and digs her knees into his sides so she doesn't fall when he takes a small step back to take the hem of her shirt and practically tear it off of her. Half of her left tit is out and she doesn't really feel embarrassed that she's part of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee because she's too hot and too high off of the body heat.

He makes yet another inhuman noise and she bucks her hips up when he clumsily unhooks her bra and his tongue rolls over her nipple and her mouth falls open with no sound coming out and he decides that he won't stand for that. He cuts his teeth through the sensitive flesh and she sighs loudly and he wants more more more more more. His hands slide down her back and he places them on her ass and he squeezes and she moans again and fucking god, she was losing control under the modern Frankenstein. Then she's flat against the floor and he's tugging her leggings off because he wants to make her mewl and moan and _scream_ his fucking name over and over.

He could tell that she's soaked and he chews on his lip and he's throbbing as much as she is and he slips her girly floral panties off of her lean legs and then he kisses up them and then he begins to fucking lick her left inner thigh and he back arches and her lips part in a silent scream but it's not enough for him and then he bites down on the skin and she squeaks and then he's getting closer and closer to her core, where she needs him to be, right now, and the asshole stops and hovers over her and breathes over her and she never wanted to kill anyone until now.

Fuck her pride. At least for the time being.

"Please, Kyle, I want it, I _need_ it," she whines, nearly one hundred percent sure that he would oblige because her calves are around his neck and she's wet as fuck but he gathers the motherfucking audacity to say "what do you need?"

She contemplates kicking him in the face or make him watch her finish herself off but he kinda sorta wouldn't be in this witch bitch mess if it weren't for her.

"I need you to eat me out," she panted. She knows he's smirking and then his mouth is on her in the best possible way and he's _licking_ and she can't help but say his name over and over and over, her toes curling when his tongue slips inside of her. He closes his mouth over whatever he can and begins to suck and her hips keep on thrusting up and she's saying his name, moaning it, and then his mouth opens wide and he groans over her cunt and the noise she makes is so fucking loud. He tongue-fucks her, over and over, growling at the sound of his name and she's so fucking wet for him and he will never be satisfied after he's done with her.

And then she's there, almost there, almost _fucking_ there, and his tongue continues to slide over her bare slit and his thumb is circling her nub and then she comes into his mouth and she spasms, riding off her sated desire. He licks her clean.

He climbs over her, forearms on either side of her head and he leans down to kiss her sweetly. "You taste pretty fucking good."

"I think it's my turn."

"Thank God. Or whoever the fuck controls the Earth. I really need you right now."

"I'll be right on it."

She kisses him.


	2. The Girl & the Boy Who Saw Daisies

The girl with the blue eyes and a dead boyfriend had reached her end. Her body was anchored with soggy clothes and the one who turned her own skin to steel bit her lip to hold back the reaction to the second death of the day. She felt like a whiny bitch who didn't know how to handle her own emotions. With her friend trapped beneath the water that held the responsibility of sinking her to her end, she heard serendipity in the release but saw trouble that was colored white. She doesn't grab her previous courage to maybe just hold the brunette's limp hand for the first and last time. There was no time to mourn, was there? There was no purpose in pausing a war to try not to let the memory of a speck of dust in the universe slip.

She was alive. Her blood was pumping inside of her veins, her bones and muscles wielding together to make her move. The girl felt the emptiness behind her hazel hues and the air tangling itself into her system. The living were cruel, but their unrevealed functions were utterly beautiful.

Her boy was by her side, stringing their fingers together because it was the closest they could be at the moment and he swore to himself to be by her side. He watched the witch in the tub along with the girl, catching glimpses of her to clarify her struggle with a response. He could almost see her skeleton breaking down thanks to gravity and an ever-growing pain. He wants to tell her she is prettier than what Heaven should be.

The action that occurred around here was too fast to keep up with. The Coven lost another leader who's dreams shone fluorescent lights. They lost an optimist and they lost innocence. All that the girl wanted to do was be soothed to sleep by someone's singing and create a journey in the black that the superstar had mentioned. Her legs do so before her mind does and she grips her boy's hand a little tighter.

* * *

The moon pours onto the sweat-covered walls and their heaving selves. He's entering her and she recalls how dearly she has missed the sensation. She develops a greater lust to liberation and jerks her hips as he pushes inside of her, seriously hoping she won't accidentally kill him. He didn't really feel like going back a second time.

He rolls his lower body onto hers once he's closed the distance between them. He kisses her neck because he's proud of her elastic heart. Her back arches and her eyes are squeezed shut with her mouth open in a silent scream and she just might tell him that daisies were blooming all around them when they've reached their climax and relax into contentedness.

His fingers dig into her sides with no intention to ease. He chooses that he will tell her that he can see the daisies when he pulls back to submit to her once again and they both fall in love with the intense friction. It was medicine. When he leaves again, she is disintegrated but then she's whole again, pleasure filling her and spreading. Her thighs were slipping off of his waist from all the sweat but he holds her with vigor and licks his lips because he's never seen anyone or anything so attractive and perfect than Zoe Benson.

A moan slips out of her and it reminds him of his first concert. His mouth easily connects with hers and he continues to fuck her into oblivion and their lips slide sloppily and greedily against the other's. Their breaths are too hot and it makes them too dizzy, but they would never get enough.

With one last cant, with one last slap of their bodies, she comes with her muscles squeezing around him and then he's finishing, filling her and his knees buckle because he's shaking too hard and their limbs are knotted on the floor. He turns over to nuzzle his face into her straight hair and she curls her digits into his. He adores her like a puppy would his owner, and she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it a little too much.

* * *

They seemed to bring beauty and bliss in the middle of the night. Anyone would mistake them for stable lovers but, in reality, they broke their halos long ago and found their lungs black and tortured. The pair became far too talented with makeup when they were alone and she would let him kiss her sometimes.

She fucking swears that all of his flaws seem to fade the more time she spends with him and she can hear him in every single damn song she listens to and is constantly on the cusp of diving away from her problems and get to him, even though she was not prepared to be conned.

Her blood burns when she's around him and it tinges her flesh but she finds herself not at all complaining about it, and she doubts she ever will. She found their relationship to be made up of crimson gold and complexity and feels she continuously dips into her boy's daydreams, which he provides whole-heartedly and for that she will never remain thankless around him.

They're lying on the bed in the guest room (even though there wasn't really a point in having one) when he takes hold of her hips and gently pulls her form to his until their chests and the tips of their noses were touching. He pecks the space between her brows and positions himself so that her head is tucked underneath his chin. He found shelter in the girl, the girl who was sunshine after years of isolation and seclusion. She wraps an arm around him and pulls the other one out from under her and rests it on his stomach. She stretches her neck and plants a kiss on his bottom lip, and then there's electric fire, swirling with her insides. She almost felt like crying from the overwhelming rush of this temporary serenity, so she shuts her big eyes instead, trying to refrain from bursting into laughter. Not that she found anything funny; it was merely the fact that she never thought she would feel this ever again, this sense of security, this sense of happiness.

She snuggles into the crook of his neck with a smile and he wishes her sweet dreams.

She falls asleep to the sound of his pulse.


	3. The Lovers Who Memorized Their Vaccines

And here they were, the witch bitch with the killer crotch and the monster with the killer impulse holding hands, running to catch their ride on time 'cause they honestly should run from the problems that were wrapped as an early birthday present with the ability to cover carnage. His grip should hold her down like breezeblocks on her chest, nothing unlike his loving but it doesn't and it makes her smile a little wider. The thrill of the rush was electric and their hearts were spewing and burning the remnants of the fucking insanity that carried hot blood in velvet boxes that spoiled too easily. They keep on running and they're the fugitives who actually knew what they were running from, the poets who kept on finding new rhymes in seemingly limited inspiration.

Neither one of them frowns and they both swear that the real magic was erupting in their fingertips.

They couldn't see the stars at the moment but they were shining a little more brighter, a little more intensely, because the lovers have reunited with and against their own wills. It's an attraction no one could break and the bus they were on spiraled a new kind of radiation. Their cheeks hurt and they're overwhelmed with both relief and disbelief and the boy squeezes his darling's hand. "Zoe. Zoey, we did it," he began to babble, " we did it and we're gonna be fine." His kiss is wet and thick and slobbery when it lands on the corner of her mouth but she wasn't going to complain, not here, not now, because the moon was out and everything was perfect.

In denial and in a trance, the couple that has proven they are the epitome of life and death were. Their breaths were ragged and sharp and shaking under the fake lights but they've never felt so real. It was a rising blue and soft cigarettes at five in the morning, after you've found a lover during the summertime. They were each other's pain killers and hearts curled around them with the curiosity and self-assurance of a cat and they've never seem so many demons evaporate all at once. All of the elements on planet Earth were dragging and customizing themselves around the lovers who memorized each other's vaccines.

"Yeah, Kyle. We're gonna be fine. We're gonna be okay," the girl said, the happiest she's been in ages as she lays her hand on the side of his face. "And Madison can fucking suck it."

He laughs so hard he snorts and everyone looks at him like he's a puppy.

* * *

The moment is a laserquest, their minds were at large with imagination, the world around them was as pure as their hands strung together. They were unstoppable, dry ice to already-frozen skin with intentional harm. The motel they chose for the night is shitty and temporary and his lips are steaming on her neck as they trail down to suckle on the taste of sex and candy. They're traveling through time and space with the scent of sweat and vanilla. He begins to rub her very core and her moan is painted in red. The arousement and heat fills the air the way watercolor would to a blank canvas when you've perfected your skill and he's panting at what the near future held.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head because of the bolts that strike her insides and the wetness pouring out of her and he keeps on saying "I love you, I love you, I love you so fucking much," and his teeth in her flesh should've been enough to sate her for years but she discovers that she needs more, due to the throbbing ache and she cannot turn from under him and she's as trapped as she is free and she's fully courted under the grasp of late adolescence and cravings.

They've been saving all of their temptations in the black because they really shouldn't act out in public and finally they're alone, both of their pants pulled off and dropped on the floor and he digs his hand inside of her panties and his finger is on her slit, pushing in swiftly and she mewls and then his index joins his middle in sliding back and down her cunt.

She bites her lip so hard it draws blood.

He mends it.

* * *

He's hugging her at 3 A.M. on top of off-white sheets and heals the barbed wire the trouble implanted in her skin. She is a book with no epilogue and his heart achieves dull pain from all the giving and getting and he welcomes it with zeal. There's still too much distance between them is what they're thinking, as if they were hoping to be suffocated by one another, but it wouldn't be bad, not one bit; it would be so fucking heavenly.

Her favorite color is probably blue but every other question relates to him.

She doesn't know why she even had someone to hold her, or why she was given the treasure known as a lover. The methods of the universe worked too slyly and strangely for her taste and then she's afraid to question what she has because you do not question miracles, not ever, forever. And just like that, she knows he thinks that they should be together, for always, but only if she wanted to.

Life at the Coven was stale and complicated, she believes. She always thought of a thousand places better than that, but her boy kind of made it bearable because he would always be waiting in the midst of unnecessary conflict. Plus, it was always kinda sorta funny to watch Little Miss Limelight lose her shit when things wouldn't go her way 'cause she wasn't used to it yet. She would never know empathy, the bleach blonde with a personality of a lemon sucked dry.

"Kyle."

"Zoe."

Her name sounds flawless when it leaves his mouth.

"I'd be in my own personal Hell," she starts, whispering, "if it weren't for you."

He plants a kiss on her forehead.

And the prince and the princess fall asleep.


	4. The Boy Who Was Going Insane

Looking at his lover was entering a realm of wild yet sane delusions that rang true in everlasting periods of questions that dealt with satisfaction. It was not like seeking water from a dry well, no, not at all, because they end the day with glittering minds and tainted possibilities of murder. He found release and he thought of peace the shade of a setting sky during the dead of winter when you think you can't stand the weather anymore when he looked at his lover. Her touch froze him as much as it burned him and he's always trying to hide his weak spots but she always finds them. It makes him feel vulnerable, insecure, but it soothed the restraint he established around himself.

When he was with Zoe Benson, he was free.

He was not with his mother, not pretending to like his frat brothers, not with a stranger that could only offer him eye candy, saliva, heat, and a fuck. He forgets how it feels to be numb and he cannot recall how his past self was limp. Being alive turned out to be fucked up poetry that became the war's anthem and it kindled with overt spirit and flavor. He doesn't know what he wants to be, doesn't know how to be it. He does know who he wants to be, does know that he is the person who flashes the title.

He was an ongoing arc called "The Black Widow's Lover."

* * *

It's Tuesday night and the boy and the girl are infected by the crimson that took over their vision, her tongue hot on his jaw and her wisdom evanescent. His job was to provide and dominate and the change has got his stomach fluttering for the need of a break that he would not admit anytime soon. It wasn't that he didn't want this, no, it was just the opposite; he could never get enough of her, of this. Her left hand is in between his thighs and they've got a connection, a piece of evidence that showed they were never going to be alone again. They both mistake the excitement for anxiety and push the lumps down their throats. His eyebrows knit together and he groans heavily when there's friction right in that fucking spot and, oh, he finally concludes that the witch casted a spell on him, as cheesy as it sounds.

Must've been unintentional, considering she didn't mean to kill her ex.

His hips roll when her whole hand wraps around him and he whines at the struggle rising in his pants. He feels like a little bitch but all the same he adores her touch. She's as tender as she is rough, the sea during a storm and the sunshine that comes afterwards. She squeezes him, hard, and his eyes rotate to the back of his head, his mind and body in an euphoria because its her, his one and only taking control over him. And, oh God, she's kissing his neck and unbuttoning his jeans and rubbing and, honestly, he doesn't believe anyone has made him feel the way she is making him feel right now.

Zoe Benson is fucking perfect in his book. He's never going to share her. Not for the world.

* * *

When they get married, he's going to take her last name. Or she can take his. Or they can combine them and change them to it. Either way, they're gonna share the same name and nothing makes him as giddy as that.

Except for the fact that her hands are stroking his hair and it makes him feel like a kitten.

They're laying on the same bed as the previous few nights. Her presence is comforting and it makes him serene. There was no other way to put it, no metaphors in the world that could put it because nothing could compare to the heart-clenching passion and flames he felt around this beautiful woman.

He wants to take her everywhere, right when he's stable enough and they can be a crime-fighting duo and he would be the sidekick because she's the star, just like in his head because, and he cannot stress it enough, she is flawless and there will never be a moment in time where he will be sated. He wants her around, all the time, and when she's not he's basically insane, but he has to hide it 'cause she could get scared and he would lose his cool and he learned self-control, all for her, just for her. Man, he's pretty much fucking high all of the time. She's everything, warm rays on a fresh spring day and flower petals on someone's wedding day and she is the ocean, ever-changing and adaptable and she is clarity like water is and he will never get to finish how much she means to him.

He would drown the whole world with his words.

Although, everyone needed to hear how Zoe Benson is anything and everything.

When he first saw her, the first thing that he thought of was simply goddess. Her eyes were shining with random color, as so were her lips, and her hair was silky and long and great and he couldn't really tell at that moment but he figured her eyes were a warm caramel color or maybe even hazel and that her hair was a deep, rich blonde and, man, he was fucking right. He can't think straight, even though he got his mind back. Seriously, what did this girl do to him? He feels more alive than he's ever been, thanks to her, thanks to his girl.

He was never really found of reusing words and phrases and everything else, but with Zoe Benson, his one and only, his girl, his goddess, his hero, his saviour, he could not think straight because of the perfection he is allowed to behold.

The amount of awe he holds towards her could choke him and kill him. He swears on it.

He also promises himself to always be there for Zoe Benson.


End file.
